Art recalled and documented can become art itself. Somewhere over my rambling readings, I came across the quote below, which I consider to be a quality sample of the art of prose. I think once you have read it you will agree that it is art, recalling art. Here is the quote:
"I was once sitting at a table in a bar when a young woman came up to the bar window, lifted her shirt and pressed her breasts against the window. When she left, there were perfect imprints of her breasts on the dusty glass. I didn't think of it as art at the time. If only I had known."
I failed to document where I clipped the quote, and can't for the life of me even remember when I collected it. But I found it interesting, moving, and thought provoking. It occurred to me that the little clip was art itself, and so the temporal art created by the young lady at the window, moved to a remaining print on the window and a lingering imprint on the writer's mind. Although it can be argued that the act of the imprint and the imprint itself were all one unit of art, does it really matter? Art is in the mind of the beholder.
I suppose that with my posting of the picture of illustration and the quote together here, the art the young lady created, and then was reminisced to prose, is in some way taking on it's third mutation. Yet, in some way, the original art still remains a pure statement of itself.
Some stories loose something in each additional telling while others gain. They evlove through adoption and added perspective. The south is full of art like that; especially here beneath the Carolina moon.
Posted by Dread who thinks it is neat art, when stories like this come full circle, but the original artists keep their secrets.
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